


Tempest in a Teapot

by servantofclio



Series: Maeve Surana [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-03
Updated: 2016-04-03
Packaged: 2018-05-31 00:15:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6447739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/pseuds/servantofclio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair asks the Warden to settle a pressing theological question.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tempest in a Teapot

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jillyfae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/gifts).



Ordinarily Maeve Surana was capable of reading with a bit of background noise, but the voices outside her tent were growing much too loud for her to concentrate on a truly fascinating tome about the nature of the Fade and its relationship to creation magic, and she was not having it. She set her book down with a thump and strode out of the tent, rather wishing it had a door she could bang for proper effect. 

“What,” she demanded, “is going on out here?” 

“Ask her,” said Alistair, “she’ll settle the question.” 

Zevran laughed. “If you think she will take your side of the argument, my friend, I believe you are very much mistaken.” 

“I don’t know,” Leliana pointed out, swinging her feet where she sat on a stone. “She _is_ Fereldan.” 

Maeve took in the scene: the three of them animated by the firelight, while Oghren snored from a nearby bedroll. Her dog wagged his tail at the sight of her. Shale, she knew, stood guard at the outside of the camp, and the others seemed to have vanished on their own business. Or, perhaps, getting quit of whatever argument had been roiling among this lot. “You are all quite loud,” she said. “Why, exactly?” 

“Your pardon, amora,” Zevran said, a lazy smile spreading across his face. “You see…” 

“Zevran claims that Andraste did not have a mabari!” Alistair broke in. 

Maeve blinked. “So?” 

“So? Everybody knows Andraste’s faithful mabari accompanied her to the fire itself!” 

“Everybody in Ferelden, perhaps,” said Leliana, laughing. 

“It is not the way I was taught Andraste’s story as a boy,” Zevran said. 

Maeve regarded him with narrowed eyes. “You were raised by assassins.” 

“Perfectly devout assassins, I will have you know.” 

“It’s true,” Leliana said. “I would not go so far to call it a heresy, but it is not in the Chant. In Orlais they call it a Fereldan perversion.” 

Alistair spluttered. “Perversion! The honorable love of a brave, beautiful, loyal animal like a mabari—” 

The dog barked happily. 

“That’s right,” Alistair said to him. “Andraste had a dog just like you.” 

The dog barked again and wagged his tail. 

Zevran chuckled. “Far be it from me to insult our canine companion, but I must insist that Alistair is not correct.” 

Zevran was, of course, only twitting Alistair for the fun of it. Maeve rolled her eyes. “And you?” she said to Leliana. 

“Oh, I can’t decide.” Leliana tilted her head to the side. “It isn’t orthodox at all, of course, but it’s so very charming.” 

“Come on, Surana, you must believe in Andraste’s mabari too…” Alistair stared at her with eyes so earnest and pleading, he might have been a hungry dog himself. 

Maeve sighed. “I don’t care.” 

Alistair blinked. Zevran burst out laughing. Her dog pricked up an ear and whimpered. 

“Oh, I care about _you_ ,” Maeve told him, and his tail thumped cheerfully. “I just don’t care about Andraste’s hound, or whether she had one at all. It doesn’t matter one way or the other.” 

Alistair gaped at her, utterly woebegone. “How could you?” 

“Perhaps she isn’t a true Fereldan after all?” Zevran suggested. 

“What I do care about,” Maeve said, “is that the three of you keep it down so I can study in peace.” 

Head high and dignity intact, she turned and went back into her tent. 

Five minutes later, Oghren’s snoring kicked up to levels befitting a swarm of bees. Maeve sighed, gathered up her book, and marched herself over to Morrigan’s campfire. “You, I trust,” she said to Morrigan, “will not disturb my studying.” 

“Don’t be absurd,” Morrigan said, never taking her eyes from her own grimoire. 

Maeve settled down in satisfied quiet.


End file.
